


Forgotten words

by hauxfe



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Memories, One Shot, Random & Short, Secrets, Short One Shot, What-If, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauxfe/pseuds/hauxfe
Summary: One would never imagine that Will Graham was one of those who wrote, always direct in his words or at least he was practical with what he let people know when he spoke. A little secret left behind.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 20





	Forgotten words

**Author's Note:**

> Something short that I wanted to write, there is no context for this, it just happens and that's it.  
> It's probably terribly badly written, I'm still bad at writing big texts in English. An apology for that.  
> [ A very short one-shot lol ]

"One would never imagine that Will Graham was one of those who wrote, always direct in his words or at least he was practical with what he let people know when he speaks, you know?" Katz spoke, looking for a less tense enviroment with the others in the room as they inspected the profiler's belongings in that house now empty of his presence, but full of strangers who never stepped on his house before. There was silence, but one uncomfortable, things happened and they continued their courses with one or without the other. “We found this notebook, that's why I saying it...so. I dare not read it, nobody here really does. I was hoping that you… maybe you wanted to keep it a secret between us, some things will be taken away, some will not. Things always get lost ... "

"I'll take it, thanks." Hannibal replied.

“I… I don't know if I should offer my condolences, Dr Lecter. You guys were close, you and Graham were friends, or at least Will seemed to consider it. "

“It's not necessary, but I still appreciate it Ms Katz. Will surely had his considerations regarding our relationship, one way or another, it's a thing of the past and I prefer that his memory remain in the best terms. "

"Well. I'll leave then, maybe wants to be alone. " She caught him, it wasn't too hard to assume that for Hannibal it was harder but no less obvious. The pain of death affected everyone, perhaps to a greater or lesser extent ... The difficult thing in his case was to know if it affected him less as he showed.

Hannibal left that house and allowed himself to wander on the snow-covered grounds, where his breathing was noticeable with each frozen sigh. He stripped off his gloves for a few moments, craving the touch against that notebook that caused him pain and intrigue. He looked at it with tired eyes but excited by all that he was holding back. For brevity, he wondered what he might find, for although Will Graham was many things, no one could ever easily assume what he was or wasn't in the eyes of strangers. He himself was a stranger in Graham's life, that he allowed him to enter or tear down those walls of self-protection was different. He was known as the intruder in his life, who was closest to seeing who he really was, or who could have been ... But this little notebook changed things, or at least it would give him a new panorama to suffer for him again, Graham already wasn't there, but those words might define the last thing he would allow hiself to remember of him.  
He looked at the slightly neglected deck, the notebook sheets barely battered by time; a small possession that Will kept close and undisclosed, because he knew that his words would never be read by others despite curiosity, not when his presence was requested to be used as it had always been, where his thoughts or his words were worth little for those who had false consideration to him . This notebook was Will Graham, maybe it would be or maybe not.

He ran his fingers over the cover and finally opened it, page after page, blank pages, simple notes, and perhaps to-do or occasional shopping lists. A change occurred when at least five sheets passed. Now each page was filled with a handwriting that did not appear to be from someone like Graham but was undoubtedly his.

Lecter allowed himself to read, to delve into the privacy of those forbidden pages. It wasn't a diary, no, it was no longer the shopping list or complaints as he imagined they might contain, this pages didn't speak of his feelings or of banal things. In those new pages there were only words to appease everything that Graham kept in his head, but unlike how he imagined, they were dedications to ... no one really. It was as if Will were talking to someone and dedicating poems to them, but he didn't give names and he did not speak of hatred or boredom, much less love or passion.

One would imagines that, when reading those texts full of feeling, but empty of it, could assume to whom they would be dedicated, as if those who spoke of unrequited love were for Alana and those who denoted courage or justice painted for Jack. But no.  
It was like being someone completely different from who Will Graham was. And that was when a certain half truth was revealed, those words, which, although they were Graham's, were not his. Those texts were from the murderers he had come to know and see, he gave voice to their feelings beautifully, turning his murkiest thoughts into words that could express at least a little of each.

Hannibal stood still and unsure for a moment, as if everything he thought he knew about Graham had been crumbled by this simple act. There was no reason to do such a thing, but Will had bothered to do it, not for the assassins, not for anyone else, not even can conceiving the idea of it being for his own delight. Hannibal let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and continued flipping through, each page so beautifully written once related to the murder or the crime itself. It was easy to understand now the simplest designs or the dirtiest or most mundane acts of lower beings, it was as if I elevated it to a bautiful art.  
But when it came to the interesting and newer pages, the pages kept changing, the texts were decreasing. The sheets were blank as the date got closer to the present.

_The last note was devastating._

It wasn't the interpretation of a murderer or the feelings of these. This new words were the answer to a never done conversation with The Chesapeake Ripper. A nonsensical conversation, but with such logic that it destroyed him quickly because he had failed him, Hannibal had failed to the last wish of Graham. He dropped to his knees as he clutched that notebook to his chest, finally shedding the accumulated tears. He had failed to him, to his love. 

_´A "simple" death isn't less beautiful for its simplicity. You will end my life when it would be necessary and when you believe it's correct, I'll not suffer or be a complicated design for anyone else, you will not share me with anyone because i'm yours. That will be fine with me, because dying under your own hand will be more comforting than being forgotten under your scorn.´_


End file.
